


flies to vinegar

by TrekFaerie



Series: The Nice and Accurate Kink Meme Fills of Trek Treksson, Bitch [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Crush at First Sight, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Office Party, Other, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 04:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: Beelzebub sees the newest Horseman at their annual celebration of the Three Hours' Agony, and decides to introduce herself. Strictly for professional reasons, and certainly not because they are the most beautiful pile of garbage she has ever seen.





	flies to vinegar

**Author's Note:**

> dagon: best wingman, or BEST wingman?
> 
> Pollution/Beelzebub: https://onthedisc.dreamwidth.org/9084.html?thread=74108#cmt74108

It had, once upon a time, been something meaningful; nowadays, though, the Three Hours Observance had degenerated into what Crowley (who never went) had once derisively called an “office Christmas party,” which was apparently something mortals did as an excuse to drink and get rowdy with their coworkers—and, loath as she was to admit it, he was exactly right. 

Beelzebub didn’t mind it, really: it let the demons have something to look forward to, to help keep them in line; Asmodeus usually showed up with a keg of something that smelled like it could strip paint off walls and tasted like being beaten with a golf club; watching Beleth and Vapula nearly murder each other over what music to play was always worth the price of admission; and it gave her a chance to catch up on all the latest, all the little things she missed due to being so busy with her very important job.

Like, for instance, the completely and utterly unfamiliar person by the wall.

They stuck out like a sore thumb in the darkness of Hell: white, all white, from head to toe—but not pure white, undriven snow white, but the greying, grimy white of slush on a city street, smeared with unidentifiable black ooze that certainly wasn’t any of Hell’s many familiar oozes. An outsider, then.

“Who’s that?” she asked out loud; as a leader, she had grown accustomed to questions she asked to the world at large being immediately answered.

She was yet to be proven wrong; Dagon was at her side at the punch bowl, and though she was incredibly interested in ladling up the rats that had fallen in [1], she did manage to glance up long enough to see who she was talking about. “Lilith brought them,” she said. “One of the Horsemen; the newest one. You remember Pestilence, I’m sure.”

“Of course.” Annoying bugger. Gave her boils boils for a laugh. Never forgave him for that. “So, that’s the new Pestilence, then? Looks… sickly enough?”

“No, they’re a Horseman in their own right. Pollution, I believe.” She made a noise that was neither approval nor disapproval. “Should fit right in with what we’re doing right now.” [2]

“You’re right about that.” She emptied her cup, slamming it down on the table. “I’m… I think I’ll go say hello.”

Dagon cocked a scaled brow. “Really?”

“’Really,’ what?”

She merely clucked her tongue at first, but the increased menace of the ever-present buzzing loosened it further. “It’s just… so soon, after Stolas?”

“Are you still—I haven’t even spoken a word to that bird since the 1700s!” Dagon cringed away suitably, so she allowed the buzzing behind her teeth to settle. “I don’t mean anything like that. I’m just introducing myself. As the leader of Hell’s forces, we’ll be working close together—was that a cough or a laugh?”

“Cough,” said Dagon, visibly trying to choke down her wet wheeze of a laugh. “Definitely cough.”

Beelzebub gave her an unimpressed look, decided it wasn’t worth it, and left her to “cough” into her precious punch bowl. She had business to do. Princely business. Hellish business. Hellish Princely business.

“I like your trousers. They’re. Oily.”

Bugger all this for a lark.

They smiled. When they smiled, their eyes crinkled up at the corners a bit. Their eyes were the same white as the rest of them, but clear and sharp where the rest of them was dingy and grubby. “Thank you,” they said, with a voice like a seabird dying in an oil sheen. “I like your flies. They remind me of rotting garbage.”

She puffed up proudly at the compliment – but, she didn’t thank them, because she was a demon, and they didn’t do that sort of thing. Horsemen could get away with it. “So. Pollution, huh?” She joined them in leaning against the wall in a very cool and aloof manner. “That’s a very modern update.”

“Humans have changed with the times. My predecessor felt he had become less relevant to them than I would be – and we must reflect their natures when the time comes.” Their eyes blinked, slowly, like an ocean wave, heavy with red tide, lapping against the shoreline. “The end of all things.”

“Right, right. The End Times!” There was a particular streak of petroleum on Pollution’s neck; she had the wonderfully irrational urge to scrape it off with her teeth. “I’ll be right beside you on that day, you know. I’m to lead our forces into battle to help our Dark Lord finally triumph over the forces of good."

“Will you?” They smiled. It carried a promise with it, of choking skies and chemical runoff and a kiss like acid rain. “I’m looking forward to it even more, then.”

At that, Pollution pushed off from the wall, leaving behind a perfect outline of their form in rust, and walked away, possibly towards Lilith – Beelzebub didn’t know, because she didn’t move for a solid minute after they left, completely frozen in place.

Dagon was still at the punch bowl, contentedly chewing on a rat-tail. “Stolas saw,” she noted casually. “Looked absolutely furious.”

Beelzebub allowed herself a grin. When a single maggot crawled past her teeth, mad with the chance of freedom, she returned to her usual grimace, shoving it back in with the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] What a party – drinks, AND a snack?!  
> [2] They had just invented the Styrofoam takeaway container, so they were feeling pretty good about the possibilities.


End file.
